


Nobody's Sancho Panza

by J Millington (valoise)



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-09-01
Updated: 2000-09-01
Packaged: 2017-10-23 02:39:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/245379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valoise/pseuds/J%20Millington
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Summary: The events of Brand X come at a difficult time for Frohike.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody's Sancho Panza

I pulled out a wad of bills and stared at them bleary-eyed, trying to decide which ones I needed.  Finally, I gave up and just shoved what looked like enough into the cab driver’s hand.  By the look of his broad smile as he drove off, I must have really over-tipped.

I stood up straight, letting the revolving doors of the hotel spin past me twice before I managed to slide into place and let them spit me out into the lobby.  The room kept on spinning.  That last drink on the plane had clearly been a mistake. Compounded by the bottle I’d picked up on the way here from the hospital.

Shit.  Shit.  Shit.

I stumbled stepping into the elevator and almost dropped to my knees, waving the bottle high in the air to protect it.  I could feel the disapproving eyes of the desk clerk boring into the back of my skull.  The lobby was deserted, so I hadn’t offended any guests, but he had a thick text book propped up in front of him so I guess I must have interrupted study hour.  Well, fuck off, college boy.  I just didn’t care at this point.  I was too full of anger.  At Mulder.  At Scully.  At their boss for putting them in this position.

I had to check the room number on the scrap of paper one more time. 305.

I knocked twice before she opened the door just a crack, wrapped in a bath robe, her hair damp and limp.  I refused to let the dark circles under her eyes make me feel guilty.

"Frohike?"  She blinked.  "What are you doing here?"

"They wouldn’t let me in to see him.  Wouldn't even tell me how he was doing."

It took her a minute to process that.  It’s not like I make a habit of showing up at her partner’s hospital bed.  "He’s over the worst of it.  Mulder’s going to be fine."  Her expression softened as she stepped aside to let me in and that fueled my anger.  She thought she understood.  No one did.  Not even Mulder.

"He almost died and no one told me."

"Someone must have notified you.  You’re here now."  She was reasonable and sympathetic.  I followed her into the room and sank into the nearest chair.

"Byers.  Waited until after the funeral.  As if I wouldn’t have rather been here."

She sat on the bed across from me.  "Funeral?"

"My father.  It wasn’t unexpected.  Not like. . ."  I screwed my eyes shut and wiped my nose with the back of my sleeve.

"Like Mulder?"  She prompted.

"Damn it, anyway.  It’s not like he died."  I turned my head away from her, ashamed of the tears and not willing to face the questions I saw in her eyes.

I felt her pry the bottle from my hand but I didn’t look up. She moved around in the tiny hotel bathroom, running water. The smell of brewing coffee accompanied her when she came back, offering me a wash cloth.

By the time I’d wiped the damp terry cloth over my face, she set a styrofoam cup in front of me.  "Cream or sugar?"

I shook my head and picked it up.  My glasses were still sitting on the table, the room out-of-focus, and I was content to leave it that way for a minute.  I let my mind drift back to 1989.  Shook my head once again.

"Agent Scully, did Mulder ever tell how we all met?"

"The two of you?"

"No, all of us.  Well, Langly and I knew each other before.  But the weekend of Susanne Modeski.  The weekend the Lone Gunmen were born.  The weekend I first saw your partner in the buff."

That got a raised eyebrow.  "Of course I am somewhat familiar with Dr. Modeski and her research in biochemical weapons," she replied evenly.  "But no, I don't think Mulder ever related the details of that weekend."

So I did.  For the next hour I regaled her with the story of the Computer and Electronics Show.  With conspiracies and toothy transmitters.  Secret computer files and paranoia-inducing gas.  Her face darkened when I came to shadowy clean-up crews and her drugged-out partner writhing on the warehouse floor.  And she smiled and shook her head when I quoted Mulder's "I have these weird ideas in my head that I can't seem to shake."

And that was where the story really began.

"Sitting in that jail cell I had every reason to be scared.  Believe me, I was.  But even more than that, I couldn't get Mulder out of my mind.  You think he's good looking now?  He had an innocence about him then, a curiosity . . . "  I watched her connect the dots.  She looked a little curious, herself.

"After the psychotic gas wore off he came to the convention center full of questions.  We were all a little shell-shocked by everything that happened, but Mulder . . . Mulder lapped it up like mother's milk.  Like a kid at Christmas with a new toy."  My eyes met hers.  "To put it indelicately, I had a hard on for the man that just wouldn't go away."

"But. . . ," she sputtered, "I know you like women. You've flirted with me from the first day we met."

"And therein lies my dilemma.  Agent Scully, I have a profound affection for you.  And an even greater regard, if you want to call it that, for your partner.  But there is no way in the world I would ever stand between you."

She laid a hand tenderly on my arm.  "Frohike, thanks for your concern, but Mulder is most undoubtedly straight.  Believe me on this."

I let her hand stay where it was and looked her in the eye.  "Oh, I have no doubt that Fox Mulder is very much in love with you.  But believe me, he does have some mysteries left for you to discover.  Back to the story, we went out to grab a burger after Langly and Byers had left.  A burger led to a beer.  The beer somehow led to my hotel room."  I sighed. "We've never mentioned it much after that night.  One night to cap off a really bizarre weekend."

I set the flimsy cup down and retrieved my glasses.  The world came back into sharp focus.  "It's not as if he hasn't been busy.  A regular Don Quixote, tilting at the windmills of conspiracy.  Every idealistic hero needs a comic sidekick, so there I've been glued to his side, drawn into the chase."

I was suddenly embarrassed to have confessed so much to the object of my second greatest infatuation, but when I got up to leave the world tilted sideways.

She grabbed my elbow and guided me to the bed.  "Go on. I'm heading back to the hospital and someone might as well get some use out of it tonight."

I toed off my shoes and flopped over onto the pillow.  I drifted off in a fog, awakened briefly by Scully, dressed in jeans and a sweater.  "I'll leave word at the nurses station.  Come to the hospital and I'll make sure you get in to see Mulder.  They may be transferring him to a regular room tomorrow anyway."

She pulled a blanket from the closet and covered me with it.  "I’m sure that you know my father was a navy man.  Career officer, through and through.  And being raised by such a man, loving him and all that he stood for, I was instilled from childhood with the importance of loyalty and honor.  There was never a man more honorable or loyal or noble."  She leaned over and took my face between her hands.  Soft lips brushed across my forehead.  "You’re nobody’s Sancho Panza."

Getting up, she grabbed the car keys from the table, opened the door, but paused.  "Besides," I heard her voice drift over me.  "If Mulder were Don Quixote, where would that leave me?  I am not Dulcinea."


End file.
